[Illustration]
Man is a changeable creature--despairing one moment, filled with joy
and confidence the next. “The sun shines differently every day,” was
the way Turgen’s father had put it, and he found wisdom in the words.
How different yesterday was from today, he thought upon wakening, and
all because of two dark eyes full of anxiety which greeted him across
the room.
Turgen rose, went to the lamb and stroked its head, under the soft
brown-gray curls were hard knob-like growths which would one day become
horns. Although the lamb shrank from his touch and tried to hide by
closing its eyes, it did not struggle as before. Nor did fear prevent
it from drinking a large bowl of milk for breakfast.
“Oho!” Turgen exclaimed with satisfaction. “Anyone with a hearty
appetite like yours can not be suffering from internal injuries.”
After the feeding, Turgen washed his patient’s wounds and covered them
with a mixture of fish oil and tar. “The oil is healing, the smell of
tar will keep flies and insects away.” This, too, Turgen had learned
from his father. He thought of freeing the lamb of the bandages, but
decided “No. He’s too young and frightened to be trusted. He would only
injure himself more.” As he worked Turgen talked aloud, sometimes to
himself and sometimes to the lamb but always keeping his voice quiet so
that the young stranger would not take alarm.
The chores that day were like child’s play, so busy was Turgen’s mind
with plans. Returning from Marfa’s with a fresh supply of milk for
Lad, as he called the lamb--he thought, “What good fortune has come
to me. When Lad gets well I will take him back to the herd myself.”
And he pictured the reunion of the rams, how Lad would tell his family
of Turgen’s kindness. Who could say?--the news might even reach the
ears of the Great Spirit. For Turgen could not forget his dream. He
was convinced the lamb had come to him for a purpose, as a messenger
from the old man on the mountain to test Turgen’s devotion. Should he
receive care and attention, then Turgen at his death would be granted
permission to enter that world of beauty where his wife and son dwelt,
where wolves were nurses to creatures supposed to be their natural
enemies.
Such thoughts made Turgen very happy. It seemed that on this bright and
sparkling day the birds were gayer, the grass greener, the brook more
talkative than he had ever known them to be before.
When Lad’s wants had been attended to, Turgen went as usual to the
Rams’ Mountain with a feeding of hay. To his disappointment no rams
appeared, though he waited behind his special rock for some time.
“Is it possible they have gone away because of yesterday’s accident?”
he worried. “No, surely not. They will return. They must. Not just
because of the food, but to look for the lamb.”
This thought had hardly come to him when he caught sight of the leader
ram opposite him on the stone bridge. The old fellow moved slowly,
stopping from time to time to peer into the ravine. There was something
very forlorn about him and Turgen’s heart went out to him. As he came
to the middle of the bridge he paused, then on what seemed to be a
sudden impulse, he turned, leaped and vanished.
Had he gone back to the herd? Turgen wondered. But no. There he was on
the ledge where the lamb had fallen.
“Eh, poor fellow,” Turgen addressed him silently. “It’s too bad I can’t
tell you that your boy is alive, that I am caring for him and will soon
return him to you. Don’t grieve. I will keep my word. And you--you must
not go away from here.”